


From Me to You (and Back Again)

by revoltrad



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Soul Mate AU, au where the marks can be seen on each others skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 21:20:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revoltrad/pseuds/revoltrad
Summary: this reads as a complete fic as is, i just had more ideas that i wanted to do with it, so it's technically a wip. madaleo soulmate au where they share marks on their skin





	From Me to You (and Back Again)

When Madara is ten years old, he begins to see the writing. 

At first, it’s just pretty music notes dotting his skin - just the notes, never any rhyme or reason to them. No songs, no words, just swirls of treble clefs, the occasional bass clef, and thousands of quarter notes and whole notes and half notes scattered his skin like stars. He thinks it’s strange, but fun.

He shows no one, and tells no one, instead taking to wearing long sleeves and pants when he can. Because it’s his soulmate, he knows. When you meet your soulmate, whatever marks appear on your skin appear on theirs, and vice versa. Madara can’t tell anyone, not in his household. His mother doesn’t  _ approve _ of that sort of nonsense, and it’s not like Madara can go against her at his age. She loves him, but she’s  _ scary _ sometimes, and that’s enough to deter him. Even at that age, he knows that her hatred of fate comes from the premature loss of his father, but it still aches to know that he can never share this bubble of happiness of her.

It aches to have to hide it.

He never writes back, except for once, when he draws a musical staff to connect the notes into a song. 

_ Who are you? _ his soulmate writes on their skin.

But Madara doesn’t answer, and refuses to read the words or music for weeks until they gradually fade. 

His soulmate stops writing, and Madara starts wishing they would.

But there’s one thing his soulmate has given him already - an interest in the world of music.

He begs his mother to let him learn an instrument. Finally, Madara’s mother settles on the piano, sending him to bi-weekly lessons at a quaint studio in town, and the old woman there begins teaching him. He masters his scales in in record time, Mary Had A Little Lamb, Hot Cross Buns… within the year he’s moving on to full pieces of music.

Within five he’s surpassed his teacher’s abilities.

= = =

It’s not until age 16 when he notes any marks on his skin other than the occasional bruise (one time the bruising covered his knuckles - had his soulmate gotten into a fight?). His soulmate hadn’t written on his skin in years, and Madara has found that it is lonely without them.

But then his forearm starts to  _ burn _ , and slowly, straight lines begin to appear on his skin. Fearful, he realizes - it’s a tattoo. 

_ What are you doing?! _ he scribbles across his own skin before he can stop himself. No one asked him if he wanted this on his own skin, and if his mother sees it, he’s going to be in serious trouble. She doesn’t  _ know _ that he has a soulmate, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. Forever, if possible.

The skin around the lines begins to redden, and he receives no response except the continuation of the tattoo. It burns, unlike the usual tingle that he gets when a new bruise or mark appears. 

And two weeks after that, the notes come back.

= = =

His mother finds out.

She catches him, fresh from running through the sprinklers with the neighbor kids (who all call him “Mike-onii-chan”), and her hand finds his wrist. She squeezes  _ hard _ , and Madara yanks back away from her, hiding the forearm tattoo from her sight.  _ She wasn’t supposed to be home right now, it should have been okay _ . 

What follows is the worst screaming match he’s ever experienced in his life. Well, match might not be the right word. Madara didn’t do much yelling, he mostly did some cowering and a lot of crying, apologizing over and over for something he cannot change.

“I can’t bear to look at you. Get out of my sight,” his mother snaps, and Madara listens. 

It’s like this that he ends up living at Yumenosaki Academy. It’s an all-boys school, and he’s immediately accepted to and enrolled in the idol track. 

Madara has taken to music like a bird to flight; he finds that he outpaces nearly every other student around him. Admiration from others quickly turns into jealousy, and by his third year... he is alone. He weaves himself in and out of the lives of others, constantly searching for someone who can match his pace, but always coming up empty-handed. 

So he becomes everyone’s Mama, a guardian deity in the small school he calls home. Madara is determined to be what his own mother would not be. 

Is it projecting? Perhaps.

But if it makes the people around him stop hating him, Madara will do  _ anything _ .

= = =

In quiet moments, locked alone in practice rooms and away from people he cares for but cannot call friends, he plays the notes left on his arm, and finds that he’s never heard tunes so perfect, never so sweet.

He will never play them for the world, because they are a treasure. They are a song written for him, only for him, and he will not yield them to unworthy ears. (Not that he believes  _ he _ deserves them, either).

= = =

There is a period of time where the notes leave him again. 

It is the worst period of his life. 

He is lonelier than ever before, and he seeks comfort in the arms of another; the person he is closest to at the time.

And it’s not until the bruises begin to blossom across his _ own _ skin that the notes reappear on his arm.

He clings to them like a lifeline and weathers the storm, not quite so alone as before. 

= = =

Madara is not the kind of man one would think could be the victim of an abusive relationship. He’s tall, broad, boisterous; not at all the stereotype of a victim. And yet, here he is, with a few boxes to his name and a new apartment and week old bruises hidden under clothes that  _ he _ had picked out. It takes him next to no time to finish moving in. The apartment is small: one bedroom, one bathroom, and a living-room-kitchen combo is all he has. Certainly he could afford something more extravagant, more lavish. But it’s all he needs for now. Low-key, off the grid, and simple. 

_ It won’t take much to make a home out of this place _ , he thinks, and that’s all the better. It’s the perfect remedy for a shitty relationship with a shitty manager. 

The most curious part of the arrangement is the door set into the wall between the living room and the kitchen. The building is old, renovated from what was once a western-style hotel. The rooms are paired with a neighbor’s through the doors between. Apparently, it was once common practice for fire safety precautions to add an exit for higher floors, where windows were not always an ideal escape. 

As long as Madara can get some peace and quiet, he really can’t complain.

Of course, that doesn’t happen.

= = =

It’s approaching 6 PM that evening when he hears a  _ crash _ next door. It makes him jump (an abuser who loves to throw personal belongs at and around you makes you sensitive to loud noises). His pulse thuds in his veins, and he tells himself:  _ calm down, Madara, it’s not him _ . The sound is followed by a high-pitched yelp and some cursing. Madara decides to pay it no mind; it’s not his business after all. 

Granted, when the second crash happens, he gets a little concerned. It’s louder than the first, but doesn’t produce more cursing, so he thinks it must be fine. 

Then the apartment starts to smell like burning. 

Madara can’t really help it; he hesitantly crosses the room to the door set into the side wall, and knocks three times.

“Come in!” yells a voice, but Madara hesitates. Does he really want to know who is on the other side of that door? 

He stands there, debating his options, but he takes too long. The door opens in front of him, and he finds himself looking down at a short man with fiery orange hair, bright green eyes, and a sharp-toothed grin. He's wearing an apron.

“Wow, you're tall! Didn't you hear me? Come in, come in! I'm cooking for you, after all!” 

Then the guy wanders back into his apartment, ponytail swinging over his shoulder, and apparently no care in the world.

It’s… weird. 

Madara likes it.

“Um… pardon the intrusion,” Madara calls out into the apartment, taking an unsure step inside.

The man waves a hand at him. 

“No need, no need! I live alone!” 

The layout of the room mirrors his own floor plan, but this is more like a home than a living space. Plants decorate the tables and the windowsill, and the walls are a gentle blue-grey. But Madara’s eyes are drawn most distinctly to the piano set into the corner of the room, painted white and accented with gold. It’s  _ gorgeous _ .

  
(a/n scene incomplete)  
  
  


= = =

They’re playing together, Madara on his violin, and Leo on his grand piano, when Madara sits to take a break. He rests his head against the piano bench at Leo’s side and listens, because few sounds put him at ease like the sound of Leo’s music.

_ I like him _ , he thinks to himself, closing his eyes and smiling.  _ I like him, and that’s enough _ .

Madara never thought he could fall back in love, after all.

Then the notes pour forth, sad and longing, and his heart squeezes in his chest, eyes flying open. Because he  _ knows _ this tune.

How many times had he played it in that small practice room? How many hours had he spent perfecting and memorizing every note?

“How do you know this song?” he asks, hands reaching to still Leo’s on the keys.

Leo turns to him, and smiles that bright, welcoming grin of his. Accepting in every way, warm and open, and now… tender.

“How do you know this song, Leo?” Madara feels something on his cheek, and realizes he is crying. Leo’s hand in his turns Madara’s arm so that the soft skin of his forearm faces up between them. He pushes back the sleeve, revealing the grand staff there, and runs his fingers so carefully over the lines that Madara’s heart nearly breaks.

“Because I wrote it,” Leo answers in a whisper. “I wrote it for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it, please talk to me about it on my twitter @/madarakanata . i might finish it if someone helps me find the motivation again. my account is locked because a few bellends can't take a hint and leave me alone. follow reqs from unlocked accounts are okay.


End file.
